Lines
by JougenNoTsuki
Summary: The lines in his hands were like a map of his life.


Title: Lines

Disclaimer: All rights belong to the other rightful owners of the 'Law & Order' brand.

A/N: I promised myself I wouldn't write anything else until I got rolling on my casefile. Alas, here we are again, with me angsting Bobby and Alex out... I promise I will write something uplifting soon! Promise...! In any case, just sort of a plot bunny that attacked today, and I couldn't ignore it. Go me.

- - -

The lines in his hands were almost like a map of his whole life. Erratic and confusing lines that wove deep into his palm - a permanency that mirrored the permanency of one's past. Through childhood, adolescence, adulthood... His life was made up of trials, of problems that he always tried desperately to fix, to make things right. But like the lines carved into his skin, you cannot wash away your past.

She'd been watching him for as long as he'd been sitting there, staring. So, it must have been a while. His stature was not that of the strong, confident man she knew and loved, but rather a hunched over stranger, lost in his own head and staring with dull eyes. For months she had watched her bold and sharp-as-a-tack partner slowly crumble away into the person she saw sitting there now - a man searching his own hands desperately for answers to questions he didn't have.

The talk had only recently stated bubbling to a head, but she'd spotted it months before his mother died. Whether it was his mother's diagnosis or her own near-death experience, or something else, she didn't know. Maybe she didn't want to... But every day she saw a little piece of the man she knew gone, replaced only with numbness he tried to mask by playing it straight. But unlike the others, fooled by his guise of normalcy, she saw straight through him, to the shriveling man he was becoming. And she did not like it.

One deep, dry line sliced across his palm, and he clenched his hand shut. Permanency. Unlike the past, a life is not permanent... He wondered what else would turn out to be cruelly fleeting.

With that flicker of emotion she saw sweep across his face, be it anger or desperation, she made her move. An angry Bobby was still better than a numb Bobby. A Bobby who could feel nothing.

He'd known for a good while she'd been standing in the corner of his peripheral vision, but there was nothing left to say. And he knew whatever would come out of his mouth would be poisonous, so he ignored her until now. Until she was standing there infront of him, her eyes searching his for something... Anything.

But there was nothing. That tiny bit of anger gone, his eyes glazed over once again and he had returned to his prior state of nothingness.

His shirt was only buttoned half way, and his black necktie was hanging over his shoulders as if weighing them down. His eyes fell away from hers, and he unclenched his fist, going back to his futile searching. This time, he found something new. Her much smaller hand had found its way to his, soft fingers slipping around his.

Please, Bobby. Feel.

If only momentarily his eyes softened, a glimmer of humanity showing through a darkness she never thought his eyes could achieve. She was not going to let him slip away from her again. Her other hand found its way to his rough cheek, a day or two (or more) worth of stubble met her skin, and she could feel his cold start to melt, and she swore she saw him blink for the first time since she'd stepped into the room. A good sign or not, she saw his jaw clench.

"Here," she softly whispered, dragging her hands away from his skin. They found their way to his shirt, beginning to button it up.

Now he was looking at her, his brow furrowed and his expression in question.

Good.

"You still have an hour," she continued with a cracked breath, continuing to push the buttons through the holes in the cotton, "I'll drive."

If she wasn't seeing things, the tiniest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. But disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Her hands smoothed over the shoulders of his white dress shirt, eerily crisp and clean. She took the black necktie and slid it around the neck of his shirt, lifting up the collar and began to twist it into a half-windsor.

And one short sigh eased out of his lungs. With that, she knew he was still in there, somewhere, and tightening the necktie around his throat, she closed her eyes and let her heart beat just a few beats before she opened them again. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought her heart hadn't beat in months, the feeling of blood flushing her skin was warm and welcome. And she touched his face again, this time with a smile on her lips.

"Hello Bobby."


End file.
